Work Text:
If someone asked Hera what woke her up the night before the Battle of Lothal, Hera would tell them she didn’t know. She’d make up something about nerves, or grief, or righteous fury. She’d lie.
The truth is, Hera knows exactly what woke her up that night. She remembers it vividly: the first flutter of movement in her belly as Jacen made himself known. She remembers waking up to it, terrified and elated because she’d suspected but not actually known.
She remembers getting up, her sleep-addled brain going to find Kanan before remembering. She’d changed directions, opting to check on the rest of her family instead of dwelling on the missing piece of her heart.
She remembers looking in on Ezra and Zeb, her gaze passing over her youngest crew member and her stomach just dropping.
Hera had been a child when the Jedi were murdered. She’d grown up with stories of impossibilities in humanoid form who had gifts great enough to change the tide of battle and turn the course of history. She’d watched Kanan and Ezra do wonderful and terrible things with this gift in the name of a better future. She’d watch them pay for it in every fight, the Force haunting them in the form of death, pain, and red blades.
Hera was not Force Sensitive, and she knew in her bones she never would be. She belonged to the stars and the sky. It wasn't her nature to follow the whims of the Universe.
But that night, gazing at the boy-jedi she helped raise, Hera had the crushing, heart wrenching certainty that she was going to lose him. A son for a son.
In the darkness of the ship’s night cycle, she’d let herself chalk it up to hormones feeding on long held fears. She’d gone back to bed, the platitudes not enough to stop the knowledge from sitting heavy on her chest.
After the battle, after the Purrgil had jumped to hyperspace and taken Ezra with them, she’d been numb. The heavy feeling in her chest had squeezed everything else out until she could barely breathe. It’d even stolen her tears, leaving her dry-eyed and hollow with the knowledge she couldn’t have them both.
When Jacen was born on the first anniversary of the Battle of Lothal, Hera held him and let herself feel all the joy and none of the bitter grief. The birth had been unnaturally easy, Sabine holding her hand the entire time as Kallus, Zeb, and Chopper paced anxiously outside her medical room. Jacen had been born with his family around him, not knowing he was missing a brother.
“He’s strong.” Ahsoka said a few days later, Jacen’s tiny hand clutching her finger. Hera heard the steadfast promise underneath her words: Ahsoka would find him.
Hera hugged her. “They both are.”
Her heart broke a little more as each family member left, chasing ghosts and other whispers. Chasing ghosts had killed Ahsoka last time, and the heavy feeling only got worse as Hera watched the Togruta leave.
But life goes on. Hera digs into building the New Republic, and stamping out Imperial remnants. She raises her son, keeps an eye on her daughter, and teaches people how to defend their hard won peace.
It’s only in the quiet moments does she let herself feel the weight. She loves Jacen more than life itself, and she’d do anything for him. But sometimes…sometimes Hera looks over her shoulder, expecting blue-black hair and mischief to go along with the green.
So when Hera woke up in the middle of the sleep cycle, ten years to the day, she knew something had changed. A weight had been lifted, a promise fulfilled.
Still in her night clothes, Hera rushed to the hangar, slippers slapping loudly in the quiet halls. The only people out were the night crew and the occasional sleepless veteran; all of whom stared after her in concern as she tore through the ship, heart in her throat.
Ahsoka’s ship was just powering down when Hera burst in, the boarding ramp lowering slowly. Blood roaring in her ears, Hera barely stopped herself from running onto the vessel.
It seemed like an eternity before a familiar figure appeared at the top of the ramp.
Ahsoka looked good, her face fuller than the last time Hera had seen her. There was a lightness about her Hera had never seen, and had she not been about to burst out of her skin, she would have asked what had changed. As it was, she just smiled at her; the relief she should feel out done by anticipation.
Sabine strolled off next, her armor a little more singed than the last time she saw her. Still, Hera gave her a brief hug, her eyes still trained on the ramp over the Mandalorian’s shoulder.
Finally, another figure appeared, one Hera was not familiar with.
He was tall, his clothes brown and drab compared Sabine’s riot of colors. His hair was curly, and he had a short beard that covered the majority of his face. And when he stopped at the edge of the ramp, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, her heart nearly stopped.
The room went quiet, the Galaxy stilling. No one moved, no one dare breathe until the man in front of her looked up and met her gaze with piercing blue eyes.
“Hey Hera.” He said.
Hera reached out one shaking hand, brushing over this stranger’s curly blue-black hair and settling it on one sun-tanned cheek. Her thumb brushed over two parallel scars, faint but still visible.
“Ezra.” Hera’s voice broke. “Oh, stars, Ezra.”
Her son folded her into a hug, taller than she remembered, but with the same shy awkwardness he’d always had. She buried her face into his shoulder and let ten years worth of tears pour out in messy, hiccuping sobs.
Another set of arms wrapped around her, armor plates digging into her skin as Sabine held Hera from the other side, letting her fall apart at the realization that all three of her kids were safe.
From the corner of her eye, she spots Ahsoka standing off to the side. Hera grabs her arm, pulling her into the hug and ignoring the way the Jedi’s eyes widen. Hera’s friend had come back alive, keeping her promise was just a bonus.
Finally, Hera let Ezra go, pulling away slightly to really look at him. Ahsoka stepped back, still skittish after all this time, but smiling. Sabine bumped her gently, leaning against the former Jedi with a grin. Ezra was still grinning despite the wet spot on his shoulder, scratching his head awkwardly.
“Don’t ever do that again.” Hera shook him slightly for emphasis.
“Not planning on it.” He replied cheekily. She raised an eyebrow, daring him. Sabine laughed gleefully.
The moment was broken by Jacen’s quiet voice from the door to the hanger: “Mom?”
Hera turned, reaching out a hand to beckon him over. Jacen was still in his PJ’s, green hair mussed with sleep; his eyes bright as he took in the scene in confusion. Next to her, Ezra went very, very still; freezing as he recognized the blend of features in Jacen's face.
Hera wasn’t Force Sensitive, and she never would be. But in that moment, surrounded by her family, she could’ve sworn she felt Kanan’s hand on her shoulder.
“Ezra,” Hera said, taking Jacen’s hand and smiling through her tears. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”